


explaining is an admission of failure

by coricomile



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Frottage, Incest, M/M, Season/Series 01, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 04:34:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2216001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/pseuds/coricomile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lip’s always hungry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	explaining is an admission of failure

**Author's Note:**

> Not necessarily an AU, but enough of canon divergence to warrant a tag.

Lip’s always hungry. The ugly, gnawing pain sits in his stomach and marches around his skin. He hasn’t really changed since he was fifteen, no more sudden growth spurts or new anatomy popping up overnight, but the growing pains still come for him. It’s almost funny. He’s hungry because he’s growing, but he’s not growing because he’s hungry. Paradox.

Sometimes, he daydreams about great, greasy food that Fiona would never let them have, even if they could afford it. Big pizzas with a whole fucking cow on top or steaks the size of his forearm, smothered in A1. It’s masochistic at best, and sometimes he jerks back to his crappy life hungrier than he’d been before, but he can’t stop himself.

At dinner, he takes his one portion and eats it slowly. He likes to think that if he goes slow enough, the food will expand to fill the black hole inside his abdomen. He knows it doesn’t work that way- it’s the calories that are important, not how masticated his potatoes are- but it’s a lot like all the other Gallagher rituals: based in hope without a lot of fact.

When he’s licked his plate clean, he lights a cigarette or a joint and shoves it into his hungry, empty mouth. There’s usually enough for seconds, but he always passes the extra rolls or spaghetti or whatever’s left over from their cheapo meal to the left to his brothers. Carl and Ian, they might still be able to grow if they have enough nutrients.

“You’re too damn skinny,” Fi says the few times he helps her wash up. The dark circles under her eyes look more like bruises than anything else. Most days he doesn’t know how she stays standing.

“I got Frank’s metabolism,” he says. “Fast and dirty.” She always looks at him with this sad damn face that makes him feel like shit, but she never says anything. She’s given up way more than an extra piece of garlic bread for the rest of them.

He smokes his cigarette or his joint in the silence of his room and jerks off before Ian and Carl get back in. It’s crappy as far as distractions go, but it’s all he’s got.

\---

It’s almost funny when he catches Ian and Kash. A lot of things are almost funny when you’re as fucked as they are. Kash looks at him like a dead man walking. Lip knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that one word could end it right here, right now.

But the way Ian’s face twists up, scared and young and angry, steals away all of Lip’s words. It makes his chest feel tight, like he’s just run a mile after a smoke. He doesn’t flee at top speeds, but his legs hurt when he climbs into his bed.

He spends most of the night thinking about how young Ian isn’t anymore. He guesses none of them were ever actually young. Not even Carl, with that psycho little brain of his. But sometimes he thinks about Ian’s gap-toothed smile before Monica split and compares it to the half-grown man he shares a room with and can barely see them as the same person.

“You’re not going to tell, are you?” Ian asks, even though Lip’s pretty sure he knows the answer already. Those Gallagher boys, they stick together. Even when one of them is taking it up the ass from his boss.

Lip shrugs. He doesn’t say yes, but he doesn’t say no. There’s a half-cocked plan in the back of his head that he’s trying to work the details out to.

When he shows up at Kash’s house, it’s just past one in the morning. The winter air bites at the exposed skin of his face, trying to freeze his blood into slush, and his breath makes a cloud of fog in front of him like a shield.

“What are you doing here?” Kash hisses when he answers the door. He’s in pajama pants and a t-shirt, his feet bare on the hardwood floor. His wedding band looks almost the same color as his skin. For a second, Lip wonders if he takes it off when he’s fucking Ian. “How did you find my address?”

“The Internet,” Lip says blithely. “You should really look into it. Maybe see what the age of consent in Illinois is.” He blows hot air into his cupped hands and motions at the warm yellow glow of Kash’s living room. He doesn’t wait for a yes or no before barging in.

“You can’t be here,” Kash says, even though he’s shutting the door against the wind. “Linda and the kids-“

“Don’t worry,” Lip says. The place looks like someone took all the stereotypes they could think of and threw them against the wall. Linda, probably. “This won’t take long.”

“What do you want?” Kash looks at the stairs over his shoulder in quick, furtive glances. Lip wonders if Ian’s ever been here. If they’ve fucked in the bed where Kash made his kids. For some reason, it makes him angrier than anything else so far has.

“Here’s the deal,” Lip says. He pulls a cigarette from his pocket and lights it. “You’re going to keep fucking Ian. He’s got it in his head that you’re some great romance, even though, really, you’re just a fucking pervert. And in exchange for my blessing, you’re going to give us fifty bucks in groceries a week for no charge.”

“I can’t _do_ that-“

“If you want to keep sticking it in my brother, you’re going to,” Lip says. He takes a drag of his cigarette and blows smoke toward the ceiling. “I won’t tell Linda, and you don’t tell Ian. Sound like a plan?”

Kash stares at him for a moment, like he can’t believe Lip’s got the balls to challenge him in his own home. When Lip’s just about to open his mouth to press the deal, Kash nods.

“Fine, fine, just _get out_.” He opens the door and looks at Lip expectantly. Lip shrugs and pat’s Kash’s shoulder on the way out.

“Good man,” he says, even though his fists are itching to sink into the round, soft stomach so close to him.

\---

It goes well, for the most part. Fifty dollars of convenience store food isn’t really all that much food, but it’s more than they had before. Lip keeps a stash of granola bars under his mattress. They taste like cardboard, but they sit nice and heavy in his stomach when the hunger gets to be too much. 

Sometimes, when Ian’s sleeping, Lip watches him from high up across the room. He looks so damn young sometimes. Lip tries to imagine him kissing Kash, tries to imagine him sucking dick, or bending over for someone, but he can’t quite make the picture clear. Ian’s looks the same as he always has. That might be the problem. 

\---

“I know what you did,” Ian says as he passes the weak joint they’ve been sharing back to Lip. His cheeks are pink. He always gets pink when he smokes or drinks in a way that Lip and Fiona don’t. The back of Lip’s brain is telling him it’s got to do with thinner skin and redhead genetics, but the science is fuzzy. “Kash told me.”

“Gotta make it worth it somehow,” Lip says. He shrugs. “It puts dinner on the table.”

“It’s worth it because I really like him.” Ian pushes his hair back off his forehead. He’s not meeting Lip’s eyes. “I don’t bust on you when you’re getting head from Karen Jackson.”

“It’s different. How can you touch another guy?” Lip asks. When he waves his hands, the frustration too big for him to keep inside, smoke dances in front of him like a cloud. Like a fairy. “How can you let _him_ touch you?”

“He makes me feel good.” Ian’s shoes shuffle in the snow, turning it a sludgy brown. He swipes the joint from Lip and takes a hit. 

“A beer makes you feel good. Why’s it gotta be some old married fuck?” Lip kicks at Ian’s leg when he doesn’t stop fidgeting. It’s making the porch squeak. 

“You really think it can’t be good with a guy?” Ian blows smoke out in wobbly, half-formed circles. It makes his mouth round and soft. Not like a girl's, bit Lip can almost see how Kash could get it confused. 

"Girls are soft and, you know, tits." Lip feels stupid even as he says it. He thinks about the sweet, wet heat of Karen around him and can't help wondering if that's what Kash thinks Ian feels like. His stomach turns. "Anyway, isn't it weird taking it?"

"I wouldn't know," Ian says around a grin. His face is red, but Lip can't tell if it's from the cold or something else. "I never did it that way."

"You sly dog," Lip says, even though his brain is tilting on its axis. Knowing that Ian's giving instead of taking doesn’t really do much to make anything better. Ian laughs and shoves him. His hand feels like ice even through Lip’s coat.

\---

The heating crashes right before Christmas. Lip tries to fix it with parts scavenged from around the neighborhood, but his fingers are too cold to hold any of the parts, and none of them fit quite right anyway. Fiona ships Liam, Carl, and Debbie over to Kev and Vi’s place, but the rest of them have to suffer. 

Lip wears his boots and coat to bed. He’s going to have to wash his sheets and spray down the mattress, but he might lose a toe or two if he doesn’t. Even under his and Carl’s combined covers, he’s still shaking. He’s jonesing hard for a cigarette, but he’d rather punch himself in the nuts than stick a single finger into the frigid air outside of his blanket cocoon. 

“You awake?” Ian’s voice shakes. Lip can see his breath from across the room. 

“If I go to sleep, I might not wake up,” Lip mumbles. His mouth hurts where its gone chapped.

“Do you think Frank’s got somewhere to sleep?” Ian asks. Debbie’s quilt is tucked around him on top of his own. He looks four times his real size. 

“I don’t give a flying shit about where Frank’s sleeping.” Lip stares at his cigarette pack, trying to will one into his mouth. His stomach cramps right along with the rest of him. No gas, no food. “I hope he fucking freezes in a ditch.”

Ian’s quiet for a while. Lip thinks maybe he’s finally fallen asleep, but then the giant, wobbly shape of him rises up from his bed and waddles across the room. He’s not wearing shoes over his socks. Lip can see his big toe sticking out from a hole. 

“I’m gonna-” Ian takes a deep breath and throws his covers up over Lip’s. The weight is surprisingly heavy. Lip scoots back against the wall to make room. The cold air that sinks in when Ian crawls under with him make his teeth chatter. 

The mattress barely fits them both. Ian tucks up next to him, frigid little fingers sliding up under Lip’s coat and resting against his stomach and bony knees knocking against Lip’s. They haven’t slept in the same bed since Carl was born.

“Fucking Christ, don’t touch me,” Lip hisses. There’s no room left to back away. Up this close, Ian’s face is just a smear of red grin and a constellation of freckles. Lip curls an arm around him to keep him from falling off the mattress. He feels solid in a way Lip didn’t think he would. 

After a while, the extra body heat and the extra blankets thaw him out. He’s sweating under his coat, but even if he wanted to take it off, there’s no way to do it with Ian pressed up against him. He thinks that he might even be able to get to sleep soonish. When he shifts to get the stubborn bulge of his jacket out from under his hip, he knocks up against Ian’s hard on. 

He freezes. 

“Sorry,” Ian whispers. His breath is so hot against Lip’s skin. “I just- reaction- I-” 

When Lip doesn’t say anything, Ian leans in, all big eyes and pink cheeks, and presses his mouth against Lip’s. It’s slow, sweet. Even Karen doesn’t kiss him like his brother’s doing. Ian’s jaw is smooth, too young to really have any stubble, and his lips are soft. Lip had expected- He hadn’t thought enough about what to expect. 

He wonders if Kash taught him to kiss like this. 

It makes him feel twisted on the inside. Lip pulls him closer, kisses him harder. He doesn’t know what he’s trying to prove, but he’s going to fucking prove it. Ian’s hand twitches against his stomach, fingers curling into his shirt. He bites at Lip’s mouth, hips rocking slow and smooth against Lip’s thigh. 

“Can I-” Ian presses his mouth against Lip’s jaw. He fumbles one-handed with Lip’s fly. Lip knows, _knows_ , that he should stop now. It’s not the first time he’s ignored his better instincts. 

He’s only half-hard when Ian gets a hand on him, but Ian works him over anyway. He tries to think about Karen, but his brain keeps getting stuck on the way Ian’s hand is huge all around him. His dick doesn’t have the same hangups.

“Fuck, it’s cold,” Ian grumbles. He wiggles his hand back out of Lip’s jeans and presses on his shoulders until Lip’s flat on his back. He’s heavy and so, so warm when he throws a leg over Lip’s hips and settles in. 

It’s weird feeling Ian’s dick right up against his, thick and hard through the soft, worn cotton of his pajama pants. Ian’s hands are restless, smoothing over what he can of Lip’s chest and tangling up in his hair. He rolls his hips like he’s fucking. 

Lip’s been fucking since he was thirteen, sweaty and quick with slutty southside girls under the el tracks, but thinking about Ian doing it pisses him off. He bucks his hips until he gets leverage and throws Ian off of him. Half the blankets slither off the bed and onto the floor, letting the frigid air in. 

Ian grins, bright and free. Even underneath him, he’s tall and solid. Lip kisses him. He holds Ian’s face, feels the thin lines of his cheeks and jaw, and doesn’t fight at all when Ian jerks at the zipper of his jacket. He has to back off when Ian shoves his shirt up, but as soon as it’s cleared his head he leans back down. Kissing Ian is like sucking in smoke. He can’t breathe right, but he doesn’t want to stop. 

Lip’s been told that he fucks like he’s dying, like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. He doesn’t know if it’s meant to be a compliment or not, but he knows what they mean. His insides feel like they’re growing too big for his body, the heat cramped up in his stomach and dick all trying to blow out through his skin. He lifts his hips and pushes Ian’s pajama pants down as far as he can reach. 

The way he’s sitting, he can’t see Ian’s dick. He doesn’t think he wants to. It’s the last line he doesn’t want to cross. Ian wraps a hand around both of them, pressing their cocks together. It’s weird, so fucking weird, but it sends shivers down Lip’s spine the same way thinking about a wet cunt does. 

He fucks up into Ian’s hand, short thrusts of his hips that make his thighs burn. Ian keeps making soft, low sounds that Lip can feel in his own chest. When he kisses him again, when he swallows those sounds down, it presses their dicks closer together. 

Ian grinds against him, hand tight and legs shaking. Lip can feel all of him in this endless loop of nerves that makes him groan. He wants to bite down on Ian’s shoulder, wants to fall into him totally. It’s almost vicicious how strong the urge is.

“Fuck,” Ian groans, thumping his head against Lip’s pillows. The line of his throat is long and sweet. Lip sinks his teeth in, right under his adams apple. It doesn’t feel like enough. 

Ian comes first, hot and sticky across his stomach and hand and Lip’s dick. It’s nothing at all like the wetness inside a girl. Ian’s rhythm goes off, but he doesn’t stop jerking them off. He’s still hard against Lip, his cock twitching a little. Lip ruts against him until the bed frame slams against the wall. He hopes to god that Fiona doesn’t come to check on them.

“Shit, shit, come on.” Ian grabs Lip’s ass with his free hand, guiding him forward with rough, uneven pulls. 

When Lip finally, finally, comes, he feels like he’s going to pass out. 

“Jesus Christ you’re heavy,” Ian whines after a few minutes. His arm is still trapped between them. Lip rolls as far to the side as the mattress will let him. Without the immediacy of getting off on his mind, all Lip can think about is how frozen the air around them is. 

Lip kicks his boots off with two heavy thumps and wipes them both down with the corner of his sheet. He tries not to look at Ian’s cock, limp against his stomach, but can’t help it. It just looks like a dick. Nothing more, nothing less.

It’s not surprising to him when Ian curls up against his side, looping an arm over Lip’s waist. Even as he settles in, Lip can’t help wondering if he does this with Kash, too. The loose, sleepy place he’d found slips slowly away.

“You still think it can’t be good with a guy?” Ian asks. Lip can feel the curve of his mouth right up against his throat. Lip flicks his ear and reaches for his cigarettes. 

“Shut up.”

\---

Lip kicks at lumps of snow as he shuffles down to Kash and Grab. He’s going to tell Kash he’s off the hook. They’ve gotten over three hundred dollars in free grub. If he keeps up the blackmail, Linda’s eventually going to get suspicious, and she won’t have the same problem with siccing the cops on him as Kash does. 

Ian crawling into bed with him some nights might have influenced him a little, too. He hunches into his coat and walks faster. He tries not to think about it when it isn’t happening. It hasn’t made him look at other guys, or fucked with him hooking up with Karen. He keeps telling himself that that’s what matters most. 

He stops at the front door and rolls his shoulders back. Ian still has to work here. He can’t fuck it up too bad. He’s reaching for the handle when he hears Kash’s thick laugh from inside. When he looks in through the window, he can see Ian bumping their shoulders together, smiling at the ground like he’s afraid looking up will ruin the moment. Lip turns and heads back home. Fuck both of them. 

Lip’s been hungry his whole life. He’s used to it.


End file.
